The voice is a wave through the dark,
It looks for ears but gets shot outside.
Finds another voice inside the dying man,
Together they see each other...

The thought is a rolling thunder in a clear blue-sky,
It looks for a room to grow but gets lost in the space.
Travels around and around and scares everyone,
Afraid to reach inside through his vision...

It gets so cold outside tonight,
The wind makes the waves move so slowly
As the thunder crushes the sound of the sea...
So easy to get lost out there
And never wanting to get back...

The human-race is a storm of happiness and grief,
Looking for something that is not quite there.
We're making noise and flowing along with the wind,
Avoiding the image we see in the mirrors,
Afraid to admit that we are what we see...